Snapshots
by tridecagirl
Summary: Random multi-chapter drabbles and scenes. I'll update occasionally.
1. Discovery

"Aren't we almost there?" Alek asked in irritation, glancing back over his shoulder. He could barely see the Leviathan now, a shadowy hulk in the misty air. He felt uneasy, venturing this far into the unfamiliar Japanese city. People wanted him dead, after all. 

Dylan sighed. "Stop complaining, your _highness_," he said sarcastically. Then, more seriously, "I need to tell you something. Something I should have told you a long while ago. And I couldn't rightly tell you on the ship, with everything downright mad with the preparations and all." 

It was true that the Leviathan was a mess, crewmen and beasts running everywhere preparing for the takeoff as the ship headed for America. America. It seemed like such a strange place, if that foreign reporter had been any indication. Alek shuddered. 

Dylan stopped. "Did you hear something?" he asked, frowning down the street. 

Alek drew next to him. "No..." he began. 

"Get down!" Dylan suddenly screamed, his voice raising an octave. He flung himself at Alek, and as he hit the ground he heard a shot ring out. Stunned, he barely saw the gunman race off into an alleyway. He hadn't stayed to finish the job. Strange. 

"Thank you for that," he said, brushing himself off. Dylan didn't answer. Then he saw the blood, spreading from the boy's shoulder appallingly fast. "Oh no," he whispered. He didn't know how to treat wounds. But help might not get here for ages, and he couldn't carry Dylan back to the Leviathan. The wound didn't look like it was anywhere vital, but the boy could die of blood loss. It was up to him. 

Carefully, Alek unbuttoned the boy's shirt, reasoning that he couldn't hurt anything too badly by bandaging up the wound. As the shirt fell open, he stopped, confused. There was already a bandage tightly wrapped around Dylan's chest, although Alek couldn't remember him being wounded recently. And the shape of the boy's body looked wrong somehow...

Alek's still shell-shocked mind took a while to connect the pieces, and then he froze as the revelation spread through his mind, shocking him. 

"_Mr._ Sharp," he whispered. 

The girl's eyelids fluttered.

Dylan - or whatever her name was - opened her eyes slowly. He - no, she, Alek corrected himself - looked confused, but her eyes focused on his face. 

"Alek?" 

"What's your name?" Alek asked briefly. 

"What?" The girl looked at him, confused, and then looked down at her open shirt, comprehension spreading across her face. "Oh. You found out." 

"I'd say." 

She sighed. "I was going to tell you. I tried so many times, but whenever I tried, things went pear-shaped. My name's Deryn." 

Deryn. Alek started making a bandage uncomfortably. "Why'd you save me?" 

"Well, you're the barking prince, aren't you?" She shrugged and winced. "More important than a wee middie, and a girl to boot." 

"Why'd you do this?" He asked, tying the cloth around her shoulder while attempting to make absolutely no contact with her skin. 

"Dress up? Well, it should be obvious, shouldn't it? I wanted to be an airman. And they don't let girls in." 

"Females have no place in war." 

"I was doing a rather fine job. And look at Lilit." Deryn cut herself off abruptly. 

"Wait. You and Lilit..." Another alarming revelation shook Alek's exhausted mind.

"Let's not talk about Lilit," Deryn said quickly. 

"Why didn't you tell me? I told you my secret. I would have kept yours." 

"I couldn't..." Deryn said quietly, frowning. 

Alek frowned. "You mean..." But he couldn't finish his sentence - not that he knew how - because at that moment there was the sound of footsteps, and he looked up to see a group of German soldiers running towards them.


	2. Reaction

Alek frowned down at the plan of the engine he was drawing. It didn't seem quite right somehow. He hadn't been able to concentrate for a while. To be fair, he knew exactly when he'd stopped being able to concentrate - when Dylan had gotten shot and revealed 'he' wasn't quite Dylan after all. 

There was a knock on the door. "Come in," he said curtly. It was probably Volger, here for a round of 'I told you so'. Again. 

The door opened and, reflexively, he turned around. Dylan - no, Deryn, he reminded himself crossly - was standing there, shamefaced. A feminine face. How had he missed it before? 

"You're better," he commented simply, turning back to scratch out yet another line on the engine design. 

"Aye. The lady boffin is a dead good doctor, when she's done being a sneaky-boots." 

"Right." He drew in silence for a while, until he thought she'd gone away. All the lines were crooked. 

"I came to say I was sorry," she finally said. 

"For what? Lying to me?" 

"I was going to tell you before things went pear shaped..." 

"I told you everything, but you couldn't tell me this?" 

"Well, you're going barking now," she argued, getting angry. "I saved your stupid life, you know, your princeliness." 

"And I saved yours. I got you back to the airship. You're fine. So stay away from me. We're almost back to Austria. Don't talk to me, I won't talk to you. Your secret's safe, and I'm out of here." Alek was surprised at how angry he sounded. He'd told himself he didn't care about this girl. It shouldn't matter if she'd lied to him. She was nobody and he was a prince. But part of him was playing traitor. And there were enough of those. 

"Fine," she sighed, as he turned away. She sounded sad - he told himself he didn't care. "But I _am_ sorry." 

He didn't say anything as he heard footsteps coming closer. "Your lines are crooked," she said. 

"I know they are." 

"I know." Before he could stop her, she kissed him on the cheek, and then left - shutting the door behind her.


	3. Kiss

"We'll be landing in Austria shortly," Captain Hobbes said, "and because of your... contact with the Austrian boy, I thought you should be part of the honor delegation." 

"The honor what?" Deryn asked. She was uncomfortable standing so close to the captain, as always, and also irritated. They were almost in Austria. Alek would be leaving forever, hating her. All because she'd drawn the short straw and been born a barking girl, which was absolutely not her fault! 

Captain Hobbes ignored her question. "Since your last dress uniform was ruined, we've procured you a new one. We just need to make sure it fits." 

Deryn turned and saw the ship's tailor holding up a dress shirt for her to examine. Barking spiders! They expected her to try it on now. This was very, very bad. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alek walk past. He ignored her. Ungrateful prince. He was going to let her deal with this alone. "Barking prince types," she grumbled, and took the shirt, wondering what on earth she was going to do. 

"We don't have all day, Mr. Sharp." 

"Aye, I know that. You see..." 

"You see, my friend has very specific tailoring requirements. He has to make sure everything is just right - he's a bit mad that way. Here - I'll take him back to his room. He has a sewing kit there." 

"Wha-?" Deryn, utterly confused, was shepherded back to her room. Her rescuer, who bore a barking close resemblance to an Austrian prince who'd sworn never to speak to her again, shut the door behind him. "That was stupid," he told her. "You almost got caught. Or... pear shaped, to use your term." 

"I thought you didn't care what happened to me," she said, clutching her dress shirt as she tried to make everything make sense. 

"Well... I guess I do, after all." He sighed. "It's very irritating." 

"Dummkopft," she said, and kissed him.


	4. Ending

"Well," said Deryn, "I guess this is goodbye." 

"I suppose it is." Alek glanced out the porthole, where Deryn knew he could see Austria-Hungary stretched out below them. His home. A place she would never go. 

It was just perfect barking timing; she thought bitterly, that that bumrag emperor had died when he did. Alek might be able to stop the war. But he had to leave. 

"You take care now," she said. "I won't be there to take your bullets." 

"I know." He hesitated. "I'll miss you." 

"Aye. Me too." Before she could stop and think about it, she leaned forward and hugged him.

"You'll be a barking good arch duke or whatever. And if you're not..." She waggled a finger warningly. 

"I'll try my best," he answered, smiling. A crewman's shout reached Deryn's ears and they both turned. 

"It's time," she said, stepping back. 

He nodded. "It's time." 

Newkirk came to stand next to Deryn as she watched the Clanker delegation leave. "So he really was that prince," the boy whistled. "Think he'll let you come visit the palace?" 

"I won't visit him," Deryn answered quietly. "It's for the best." They'd agreed on that. A wee middie going to visit a barking emperor would be odd at best, and she knew it would just hurt her more to see him. Better to make a clean break of it, so it would hurt a squick less. Or at least that's what she told herself. 

"Too bad," Newkirk said, oblivious. "He might have given you some of his gold." 

"You're just cracked in the attic," Deryn answered, putting her hand in her pocket. Her fingers curled around the rough coin, stamped with the Hapsburg seal. "He'd never do that."

"You might want to see this," Newkirk said, dropping a newspaper down in front of her. He walked off, but not before giving her a strange glance. Deryn was used to those. They'd gotten lot more common in the last few years. 

_October 31, 1918_, she read. _Austria-Hungary divided - to form new republics._

She sighed. She'd been expecting something like this, every since the Clankers had lost the Great War. Austria-Hungary hadn't had a leg to stand o, with Germany on one front and the Allies on the other. It was inevitable, for it to be taken apart. In some way, she'd almost been hoping for it. 

"Dylan." Newkirk was back, looking at his boots. "The captain needs to see you." 

Deryn folded up the newspaper so no one would see the tearstains that marked the paper. "Aye. Right away."

"Mr. Sharp," Captain Hobbes said, "a certain... matter has been raised to my attention, and I find it impossible to ignore." 

"I see." Deryn broke out of her salute awkwardly, uncomfortable standing right in front of the captain. Over the years, she knew her disguise had become less and less effective. It was just obvious, eventually, who was a lass and who wasn't. 

"... Mr. Sharp, you are, in fact, female, are you not?" 

She'd expected this moment to come eventually. She'd hoped she'd have more than four years, but she couldn't help that. It was over, all of it. "Yes, sir." 

"And you falsified your information in order to gain a military position upon the Leviathan?" 

"Any military position at all, sir. The Leviathan was just a wee squick of luck." 

"I see." Hobbes sighed. "Obviously, you cannot continue to serve in the Royal Air Force. You will be honorably discharged and let off in London." 

"Aye. Honorably discharged?" She'd half expected a hanging. 

"Female or not, you have served your country well, Ms. Sharp. We will be sorry to lose you." 

No you won't, she thought. You'll be sorry to lose Dylan. Not me. You never wanted me. "Thank you, sir," she said aloud.

Perhaps they were just starved for news now that the war was over, but the reporters were having a field day with her. Deryn put her hand up to shield her eyes from the continuous flashes of the cameras. She thought she saw Eddie Malone amongst the crowd, that bum rag frog on his shoulder as always, but it was probably just her imagination. She'd spent a lot of the trip back remembering the good old days, when she'd been Deryn, when she'd... but that was in the past now. 

Slowly she walked down the steps for the last time. She'd miss the beastie, she thought, looking back at the Leviathan. It had been home for four years, after all.  
Now that everyone knew she was a girl, she'd let her hair grow out. It went a little past her chin now, an unfamiliar feeling as it brushed against her face. Now she wished it was longer, so she could hide behind it. Gritting her teeth, she passed the last step and put both feet on the ground. Where they would, unfortunately stay, probably forever. It wasn't barking fair. 

She pushed through the crowds of reporters, just wanting this day to be over already. She reached the edges of the crowd and started storming down the street, going anywhere but here, not wanting to look back and remember what she'd lost.

"Ms. Sharp?" 

Deryn whirled around. "Barking spiders! Won't you bloody reporters give me an inch of barking space?" 

"If that's what you want," the man said, pulling off his cap. Deryn frowned and took a closer look. Reddish brown hair, green eyes... 

"Alek!" she screamed, and threw her arms around him. 

He hugged her back and then said, "I'd like to breathe now, if you don't mind." 

"Sorry." Deryn let go and stepped back an inch. He was taller now - as tall as her - and looked stronger. More self assured. She'd thought he'd look more upset. "I'm sorry about... the whole country thing. Must make all of that running and getting shot at rather pointless." 

He shrugged. "It's not too bad. I never liked being an emperor anyway. Watching everyone smile at you and wondering when they'd try to slip poison in your drink. I don't think I would have survived much longer. And being normal - it's freer. More of a life, really." 

"Aye, because you could pass for normal," Deryn said. But he seemed to be doing an alright job.

He didn't scream princeliness the way he had when she'd first met him, back on the glacier.

"Least you're not as posh." 

"I get by as a mechanic, or a walker pilot if they need one. No one seems to know who I am. I should thank my parents for keeping my face hidden. Everyone's forgotten Eddie Malone's article by now. I'm just another Clanker fleeing the war. And," he added with a smile, "I may have gone back to a certain Swiss glacier and picked up some certain items that were lost four years back." 

Deryn grinned. "You didn't?" 

"I didn't find all of them, but I do have enough to finance several Ottoman revolutions." 

"I still have mine," she said, taking out the gold misshaped coin he'd given her. The seal was worn now, from countless times she'd run her fingers across it, but it was still recognizable. 

"So I told you what I'm doing," he said, looking concerned, "but what about you?" 

Deryn sighed, her momentary happiness at meeting Alek fading away as she remembered that she was nobody now. Not a soldier, not an airman - just a lass with no future. "I don't know. All I ever wanted was to fly. Now I can't even do that." 

"If I was still Emperor Aleksander Ferdinand, I'd make you captain of your very own airship. But as Alek the mechanic..." he sighed. "I can't help you." 

She took his hand and squeezed it. "You already have."


	5. Letters From Home, pt 1

Starting a drawing was always the hardest part. Deryn frowned, contemplating the blank paper. She'd drawn all the beasties aboard a thousand times, and Clanker technologies still made her eyes burn. Of course, there was _one _Clanker she didn't mind looking at…

She shook her head to clear it. She'd been sketching to get Alek _off _her mind. Idly, she sketched a face. Her face – the contours she'd traced so many times came naturally. On a whim she added longer hair, a dress, one of those ridiculous hates Ma was always forcing on her. It was the girl she used to be. But not quite…

She considered the image, then penciled in a look of disgust and irritation on the poor, skirt-wearing Deryn's face. Much better.

"Who are you drawing? A girl from back home?" Alek had come up behind her unnoticed. Her pencil jerked, a gray line cutting across the page. He frowned down at the girl's face. "Is that…?"

"It's my sister," Deryn improvised quickly.

"You never told me you had a sister," he said, sounding slightly hurt.

"If you had one, you wouldn't want to admit it either. Beastly little things, they are."

Alek shrugged. "I think she looks rather pretty."

"I suppose," Deryn said reluctantly, playing the uninterested older brother, while inside she was screaming. _'He thinks I'm pretty!'_

"She looks a bit unhappy, though."

"Oh, yes…" Thinking up an explanation, Deryn said, "She doesn't like all the fancy clothes and such that comes with being a girl. It drives her barking mad." That was all the truth, she thought, pleased.

"She seems like an interesting young woman," Alek said thoughtfully.

"Not as interesting as me, but you can't have everything. I'm writing a letter home tonight," she offered. "You can send her something, if you like. She'd be dead pleased, to get a message from a prince, even a Clanker one."

"Maybe I will." Alek scrutinized the drawing one last time. "What's her name?"

"Deryn," Deryn said before she could help herself. Then she slammed the sketchbook shut, biting her lip. What on earth had she done?


	6. Letters from Home, pt 2

Deryn attached the bundle of letters to the courier pigeon, stepped back, and let it fly away. Then she took out Alek's letter, which she'd slipped into her pocket when he wasn't looking, and unfolded it.

_Deryn-_

_It's rather strange, writing to someone I've never met. But your brother suggested it, so… I'm sorry, I'm quite terrible at writing letters. I don't often write them, you see._

_I should probably introduce myself. My name's Alek – I don't know what Dylan's written about me, or what you've read in the papers. I hope that you don't mind that I'm a Clanker – your brother recovered, eventually. _

_In all honesty, I'm quite curious about something Dylan said to me. He's quite adamant that the women in his family are mad. Perhaps you can enlighten me?_

_I apologize for this frankly awful attempt at a letter. But all I know of you is an illustration, so it's a bit hard to make conversation._

_Alek_

Deryn shook her head. He really was dead awful at letter writing. Of course, she'd probably be no good at it either, trying desperately to sound like someone else. She couldn't just write it in Air Force slang – she'd need to sound like a cultured young lady. That was going to be tricky. It would take the pigeon a week at the very least to get to England and back, she thought to herself. So she didn't have to work on a reply any time soon…

She took up her own pen and began to write.

_Alek – _

_So you're Aleksander, the 'barking prince'. Yes, Dylan might have mentioned you once or twice. _

_It _is _a bit odd, getting a letter from royalty, but if my brother can manage it, I'm sure I can. I just won't tell the rest of my family._

_I hope you haven't suffered _too _terribly, living on the same airship as Dylan. He has a tendency to be a bit of a dolt at times – rushing into things without thinking. He hasn't done anything silly, has he? According to the letters he's sent home, he's been quite well behaved, but I think it's the edited account. I'm trusting you to tell me what my dear brother has _really _been up to. And don't censor anything for my delicate feminine ears, either. I've been stuck with Dylan all my life – I've heard everything. _

_As for madness, I suppose it depends on what you think is daft. You see, Da used to take me flying. Not as much as Dylan, but I still loved it. I wanted to join the air force, but of course I can't. I think Dylan understands, but he still called me a dummkopf – whatever that means – last time I wrote saying I wished I could switch places with him._

_It's been a pleasure exchanging letters with you. You don't at all sound like the maniac the German papers make you out to be. I find that quite reassuring. My brother does tend out to fall in with the wrong people._

_-Deryn_

_Deryn-_

_I'm glad you don't find me a maniac. That would be disheartening. I've been assured I'm quite normal, if a bit… formal. Your brother puts it in different terms, of course._

_I don't wish to report _all _of Dylan's actions to you, but I'll tell you he hasn't been too bad. There was an instance where he assisted a revolution in Istanbul, but that's too long of a story to write here._

_It's too bad you can't be in the air force. It really isn't the best place for women, but I can understand why you'd want to fly. Even I have become attached to the airship, and I'm no Darwinist. But I've met females capable of some surprising things. For example, there was quite a remarkable girl in Istanbul who helped fight in the revolution I mentioned earlier, who could pilot a walker as well as any boy. I admit, my self esteem fell a few notches._

_I almost forgot to mention – she (her name's Lilit) and your brother had a bit of a romance. Nothing lasting, but Dylan did get a kiss out of it. I assume, as his sister, you'd like to know these things. But if you set his mother on me, I'll never forgive you._

_It's odd – I've only read one of your letters, and yet I feel like I know you quite well…_

_-Alek_

_Alek – _

_It's probably because you know my brother. Everyone always says we're just alike (besides Dylan being a boy, of course). This is generally directed at me, and not as a compliment. I'm afraid the women you're used to at court would turn up their noses at me._

_Dylan started a _revolution? _Don't worry – I won't tell Ma. She'd be _furious_. On the other hand, I'm glad this Lilit taught you some things about what women can do. It's about time. Perhaps I should start my own revolution. Could you fund me? According to my brother, you've got plenty of gold. _

_So Dylan got a kiss? I'm always telling him that if he'd get his head out of his bum he might catch someone's eye. Then again, he keeps telling me that if I'd stop scowling whenever Ma shoves me into corsets, I might not scare all the young men off. I've stopped scowling, mostly because I've stopped wearing corsets. The young men have not returned._

_I can't believe I haven't said this yet – I guess it's because I feel like we've already been through it, since I've read Dylan's letters too. I'm sorry about your parents, and what you've been through. I know it's barking awful. But I can tell you it gets better, even if it doesn't ever really go away. It's not as bad for me, but Dylan was there… He'd probably kill me for telling you this, but I know he still has nightmares. So don't get killed, all right? I don't need him to go completely cracked._

_-Deryn_


	7. Letters from Home, pt 3

_Deryn – _

_ I'm doing my best not to die at the moment, although admittedly it has been difficult at times. I've lost track of how many soldiers have come after me. But we all have problems. Dylan barely escaped being mauled by a Russian bear, and he has an awful bite on his arm. By the way, is your writing a bit crooked?_

_ I'm afraid I had to throw the rest of my gold out the Leviathan's window. You're welcome to try and retrieve it, if you like. But for now, I'm just as poor as anyone else._

_ I've seen a picture of your scowl. I don't think it's that frightening, but perhaps Dylan's drawing didn't do it justice. _

_ It's all right that you didn't mention… everything… before. It's easier that way. But thank you – and I do know it gets better. It already is, slowly. _

_ Have you heard that your brother's been promoted? We're getting leave in Glasgow so he can celebrate with his family? Do you mind if I tag along? I'd rather like to meet you face to face._

_ (If Dylan tells you this is just an elaborate plot of mine to get a free meal, he's lying, I swear.)_

_-Alek_

Deryn reread the letter and bit her lip. She couldn't just go barking mad on him and forbid him from ever getting near her house, could she? But once he saw her in person, she was sure everything would come apart. Unless she really could play another part…

She was just so sick of this, being a different person all the time. Alek didn't even know the real her – just Dylan, acting like a proper boy, and the Deryn he wrote to, who was acting like a proper girl. He'd never met just plain her.

She realized she wanted him to.

_Alek-_

_ A pity about the gold. And obviously Dylan's memory has gotten muddled. Or perhaps I was drawn in more regular clothing. You see, my scowl increases for every layer of clothing. At parties, it's said to be quite murderous. I've sent a few people scurrying. Dylan, of course, just laughs._

_ Yes, I've heard _plenty _about Dylan's promotion. He's very proud of himself. Don't let it go to his head, or I'll never hear the end of it._

_ I suppose you can come, if you'd like to. I can't exactly ban the Prince of Austria-Hungary from Glasgow. But the reception – and the meal – may be found a little lacking. Ma isn't all that welcoming, and lately she's been reading the papers and writing to Dylan asking 'Who on earth are you spending time with? This is what comes of the air force – come home right now before you're all assassinated.' If you think my scowls are forbidding, you'll probably die of hers. I won't be surprised if Dylan attempts to avoid home all together._

_ Maybe I'll see you in Glasgow. And I'm warning you –if you really do turn out to be a maniac, I'm quite capable of handling myself. I've beaten Dylan in a fight, and you can't be too much tougher, even if you can fence. _

_-Deryn_

"What are you writing?"

Deryn's hand jerked – she transformed the motion into a casual stretch, flipping the letter over so the words were obscured. "A letter home. I'd look like a dead awful son and brother, if I wrote less than some barking prince they'd never even met. It's all your fault, you know."

"Sorry." He didn't look it. "So you haven't sent my letter yet?"

"Not quite yet. But we're not in Glasgow – I'm sure whatever deathless prose you have to offer will get there before we do." She flourished the pen dramatically, trying to sound like an aggrieved older sibling. "I have no idea why you put up with my sister when you don't have to."

Alek shrugged, giving her a strange sideways glance. "She's interesting."

"Tell me that after you've lived with her for sixteen barking years," Deryn muttered. "Can I finish my letter now?" She sounded irritable, she knew, but she needed to solve her problem, and fast. Glasgow was only a few days away.

"Certainly," he said, stepping out. "But I hope your bite isn't bothering you too much, or your letters might come out crooked."

Deryn frowned down at the paper as he left. What on earth had he meant by _that_?

[My updating is going to be rare for the next week or so, since I may or may not have computer access. So all stories may be on hiatus. Sorry.]


	8. Letters from Home, pt 4

"Are you going to see your family?"

Deryn stopped fiddling with her new formalwear guiltily. "Erm… aye. Eventually."

Alek raised his eyebrows. "You can't avoid your mother forever."

"I'm not worried about forever. Just two days of leave." Deryn couldn't exactly say she was going to see both him and her mother quite soon. Just not as Dylan. Blisters, this was complicated. She should have just drawn Bovril, instead of a self portrait. Look where it had gotten her.

"Well, if you see your sister before I do, can you give her this?" he asked, handing her a letter.

"I swear, you must be up all night writing the barking things," she muttered, but curled her fingers around it and slipped it into a pocket.

He just smiled. "I think she'll find it interesting."

"I'm sure she will. Not like she's got anything else to distract her. Not like us, who have to worry about a whole barking _war_." Deryn picked up her pack – full of what she needed to survive an overnight stay back home as either Dylan _or_ Deryn – and sighed. "I suppose I'll have to make some sort of appearance. But you can bet it'll be short."

In the room she hadn't seen for a year, Deryn stared at herself in the mirror. This wasn't working at all.

She still had some time – she'd given Alek directions for the longest, most circuitous route to her home she could think of, while she'd taken the fastest. But no amount of time could fix this.

She'd sent her mother her measurements so she could make her some 'proper' clothes to wear. But as she looked at herself, she just saw Dylan in a dress. Maybe she'd lost the Deryn part of her forever.

The biggest problem was the barking hair, she thought, tugging at it. If Alek could just get lost for a few months…

With a sigh, she flopped down on the bed. There was a crackle from underneath her, and belatedly she remembered the letter Alek had handed her back on the _Leviathan._ Well, it couldn't hurt. She unfolded it and began to read.

_Deryn – _

_ I've enjoyed corresponding with you. These letters have helped me understand both you and your brother a lot better. There's just one thing I have trouble believing._

_ I can't imagine that a girl like you would ever give up on something you really wanted, no matter how difficult it might be. So here's what I think:_

_ I think you dressed yourself up as a brother you don't have, in order to be the airman you always wanted to be. I'll be the first to admit that you pulled it off quite well. You fooled me. Then you started this correspondence because you felt guilty for lying to me._

_ Of course, I could be completely wrong, and you can feel free to call me a dummkopf if I am. But I really did come here in the hopes of meeting you face to face – the real you – and I hope you can trust me enough to stop pretending._

_-Alek_

Deryn sat there, stunned, and heard steps pounding up the stairs outside her door. "That prince is here," she heard her mother hiss through the wood. "I hope you're wearing something presentable."

Deryn looked down at herself and couldn't keep back a smile. It would have to do. Then she tucked the letter in her pocket, and went downstairs.

[That's all, folks. For this story, at least… The ending's a wee bit ragged, but I was rushed. :/]


	9. Tall Tales

"So what's the most dangerous fabrication you Darwinists have come up with?" Alek asked as Dylan continued to demolish the mound of food in front of him. As a prisoner, he was only supposed to see his friend when he brought his lunch. But Dylan, with his typically cavalier attitude to rules, had transformed 'taking lunch to the prisoner' to 'having lunch with the prisoner', which generally took as long as he could disappear without Newkirk or another crew member coming to cart him back onto duty. Despite his worries that his friend might get in trouble, Alek didn't mind these arrangements in the least.

Dylan thought over the question for a moment. "There's nothing else quite as pure dead brilliant as the _Leviathan_," he decided, waving a piece of bread around grandly for emphasis, "but for overall viciousness, I'd have to say the attack squirrels."

Alek choked on a mouthful of tea. "_Attack squirrels_?"

"Don't underestimate them," the boy warned as Alek worked to erase his mental image of fluffy rodents armed with fencing sabers. "Vicious wee beasties they are, even when they're not fabs. All fur and fangs and making off with your lunch if you don't keep your wits about you. And the boffins added a squick more fangs, as you can imagine. The Clankers never see it coming."

"I'm never setting foot in Britain."

"Why not?" Dylan demanded, looking offended. "I haven't even told you about the exploding mosquitos."

Alek's eyes widened. "You're joking."

The boy grinned. "All right, I _was_ pulling your leg with that one. But," he added suddenly, "I was dead serious about the squirrels." 


	10. Three Little Words

Three words.

For hundreds of years his family had been working to advance themselves, maintain power. Marrying, allying... whatever it took. His own parents, even, had fought so hard to keep what was rightfully theirs. And three words would bring all of it crashing down.

But he didn't want any of it. Not with the price that he'd have to pay.

"Ich liebe dich," he said.

Deryn looked up from her sketchbook inquisitively. "Did you just swear at me in Clanker talk, Aleksander Ferdinand?"

"Erm... no."

"You better not have." Satisfied, she resumed drawing. Alek surreptitiously wiped away the sweat beading on his forehead. Of course, the next step was saying it in English.

But there was no hurry.


	11. Deja Vu

**Note: So I jumped on the bandwagon and used 'Sophie', because I looked up popular 1920s names and they were all terrible. But I'm not passing judgment on the identity of the father. **

…

**That's the sound of me not passing judgment.**

Deryn tried to keep a straight face, but she couldn't help it. Her lips twitched upwards in the beginnings of a laugh she stubbornly kept silent.

Sophie noticed, though. "Oh, it's awful," she wailed, slumping down despairingly. Her reddish gold hair, already causing local boys to stop and stare in admiration, was cut short like a boy's, and she was wearing a battered airman's uniform Deryn knew quite well, having packed it securely in the attic over twenty years ago. She'd almost forgotten it was there. Apparently that hadn't stopped Sophie, but then again, nothing did.

"It's very good," she consoled her daughter. "I just don't think even the ninnies in the Royal Air Force are likely to fall for the same trick twice."


	12. What Might Have Been, pt1

**What if Alek and Deryn had met at a less opportune time? This is the story of what might have been…**

What Might Have Been

Crashed in enemy territory, Deryn thought angrily, extricating herself from the tangled remains of the Huxley, shredded by the many branches that had buffeted it during their long fall. Newkirk would have a good laugh about this. This was the last barking time she was doing recon.

Of course, this might be the last time she did anything, she thought gloomily, rubbing her arms. Even in her flight suit, it was _cold_ here, somewhere near the border between Switzerland and Austria-Hungary. She wasn't sure where – enemy territory's air didn't look any different than the neutral kind. Made it even harder to grasp the barking point of the whole war idea, really.

Back to the problem, she thought to herself. You have no food, no shelter, and Clanker soldiers could be anywhere, ready to take a chunk out of any daft middie who plummeted into their territory.

Sodding geese and their sharp beaks.

She'd just thought of enemy soldiers when she heard the first rustle in the bushes ahead of her. She tensed, took a step forwards-

-and was tackled from behind. She felt rope wrapped around her wrists and pulled tight, the rough edges chafing her skin. Defiantly, she looked up and spat out the mouthful of dirt she'd gotten when her face had hit the ground a squick harder than necessary.

A small figure stood in front of her, wearing an Austrian helmet that cast a shadow over his face. Deryn's attack stepped around her to join him. He wore no helmet – she could see his cold, calculating eyes and rather impressive moustache. Clanker, definitely. This was not good.

"He's just a boy," the smaller figure said. Deryn had to bite back the response, 'Well, not exactly.'

"He's a liability," the man with the mustache answered. "You know that."

The smaller figure sighed and pulled off his helmet, revealing a face that was, to Deryn's surprise, dead handsome. And not much older than her. She didn't have much time to look, though, because the boy pulled out a pistol and pointed it at her chest shakily. "_Es tut mer lide_," he said in Clanker talk, "_das aber ich das tun muss."*_

His face was the last thing she saw.

**Note: Translation is, roughly – I'm sorry, but I have to do this.**


	13. WhatMightHaveBeen, pt2

Alek didn't feel relief when the enemy soldier toppled backwards, a red stain blooming on his chest. All he felt was disgust. What was this doing to him, that he was killing innocents who couldn't help falling from the sky?

Count Volger walked over, apparently unconcerned that they had just become murderers. He knelt down and waved a hand over the boy's mouth, frowning. "Your aim is, if possible, even worse than your fencing, your highness. He's breathing."

Despite the disappointment in Volger's voice, Alek felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted off his shoulders. This war hadn't made him a killer yet.

"Hand me the pistol," Volger said impatiently.

"What? No." Alek held the weapon closer to him protectively. "Why do you want it?"

His fencing instructor sighed, as he did whenever his charge was being incredibly dense. "To finish the job, obviously. Since you aren't capable of hitting the heart of a bound, motionless prisoner."

"Absolutely not," Alek snapped, trying to mimic his father's voice at its most commanding. "We're not killing a helpless prisoner. We can… we can take him hostage. He's unlikely to be alone – if his allies come looking for him, we can give him back on the condition that they pretend they never saw us."

"After we shot one of their own?" Volger looked skeptical, but seemed to have accepted that Alek would not budge. "And if our hostage dies? You may have missed anything vital, but he can still bleed to death."

"Then move over." Alek didn't know much first aid, but he knew Volger was right. He had to stop the bleeding. Using the boy's knife, he cut a strip of cloth off of the baggy flight suit and opened up the shirt, trying to avoid the blood that was getting absolutely everywhere.

What he saw, for a moment, confused him. The boy seemed to be already injured – a strip of cloth was wrapped tightly around his chest. Then he took a better look at his captive, and understood. "Mein Gott, Volger! You made me shoot a girl!"


	14. What Might Have Been, pt3

Deryn jerked into awareness, and then wished she hadn't. An intense pain had taken residence in the center of its chest, and seemed intent to radiate outwards and rip her apart from head to toe. She bit back a few curse words, then saw the boy sitting next to her and let them out.

"You barking shot me!"

His eyes snapped open – it seemed that he too had been asleep. "Oh! Um… yes. And you have my conscience and my poor aim to thank for your survival."

The response threw her. "Then… thank you? I mean – you shot me!"

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I think you've established that."

"Well, it's sodding important to me!" she snapped, realizing she was using her real voice. She looked down – a new bandage was wrapped around her chest. No point pretending then. She groaned and let her head collapse back onto the rolled up blanket serving as a pillow. Mighty kind treatment, for a prisoner of war.

"I'm afraid we had to take the bullet out without the benefit of anesthesia," the boy continued, misinterpreting her groan.

"Yes, I've barking well established that," she said crossly. "Couldn't you have done a proper job and saved me all this trouble?"

"I would think you'd be grateful."

"Why would I be grateful?" She tried to sit up and glare at him, but it hurt too much, so she settled for twisting her neck around in an uncomfortable position. "I'm off my airship, being held prisoner by some _boy_, and my secret's out. You've ruined by life, you Clanker bastard!"

"Why did you do it?" he asked intently, brushing off her insult. She hadn't said it with much force, since taking deep breaths made her wound burn even more. But she'd _meant _it as harshly as possible. Maybe curse words didn't hurt as much if they were delivered by a girl.

"I have to fly," she said, the anger draining out of her to be replaced by exhaustion and a sense of sadness. She'd lost it – the only thing she'd ever wanted. "But a land-bound Clanker like you could never understand."

He didn't, she could tell, but he was trying, his forehead furrowed in concentration. "Well, then," he finally said, "we'll have to get you back."

"Back?"

"Certainly. I can't afford to drag you across Europe, and I've discovered I'm no killer." He stood up decisively. "I'll work something out. We'll see you back to your airship, and no one will ever have to know."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, surprised. She'd never heard that Clankers were especially merciful.

He shrugged. "We both have something to gain. As long as an airship is flying around, looking for you, attention is drawn here. And there are German forces after me. If we deliver you back to your ship, it'll leave and we'll be free to escape. And… I'm not a horrible person. Just because we're on different sides of the war doesn't mean we have to be enemies."

"I think that's the definition," she muttered, but subsided. If this mad Clanker wanted to return her to the _Leviathan_, she wasn't going to complain. Before sleep took her again, she added, "My name's Deryn. I thought you might want to know what to call your hostage."

"Deryn." He nodded. "My name's… Alek. It's probably best if we don't share last names."

"Probably," she agreed, before the darkness took her, wiping away the pain.


	15. What Might Have Been, pt4

To tell the truth, Alek didn't know why he was helping the Darwinist girl. It would have been much easier, no matter what he'd said, to have killed her and dumped her body in the woods somewhere, making his escape while the searching airship confused his pursuers. But he couldn't. Maybe it was because she, too, was hiding – even if it wasn't in the same way – and he wasn't a horrible enough person to expose her. And he knew now that he could never kill someone in cold blood.

So for now he could only pray that her plan would work. If it did, she'd be gone, in and out of his life, just like that.

The emergency flare she kept in one of her uniform's many pockets shot up, a sparkling light hovering in the air. He didn't know how it worked – probably a nightmare blend of animals like all Darwinist technology. But it worked – a half hour later a dark shadow passed over the clearing.

"You didn't say it was so big," he said, awed by the immense shape flying above them.

"It's the barking _Leviathan._" Seeing the surprise on his face, Deryn added, "Didn't I mention that?"

The most famous ship in the Royal Air Force? "No, you failed to include it."

"Oh well. Thanks for everything," she said, "except shooting me. I'm still a squick miffed about that part."

"Anyone would be, I'd think."

"Alek…" she said his name uncertainly. "There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?"

His pause was confirmation enough. "It's better you didn't know."

"I thought so. Maybe I'll see you in the papers." She grinned and, to his surprise, kissed him on the cheek. "Good luck."

"And the same to you."

She ran out into the clearing and looked up, where someone was descending with the help of two horrible things that must have been fabrications. He saw her change – she moved like a boy now, her voice pitched low as she shouted "Oi! Newkirk! Are you going to get down here or are you just enjoying the view?"

He must have heard her, because the descent became more rapid. Soon the boy's – Newkirk, Alek presumed – feet touched the ground, dragging the two monsters behind him. If possible, they looked worse up close. But Deryn didn't hesitate, buckling herself into the harness hanging off the empty one.

"Who are they?" Newkirk asked, giving Alek and his men a suspicious glance.

Deryn shrugged. "Friends."

"You have the strangest friends."

"Thanks again… mostly," the girl shouted as their fabrications climbed into the air. He saw what she meant, about flying. She looked like she belonged there, more comfortable in the air than on land. He wished he had somewhere he fit half as well.

Volger stood beside him. "Well, you didn't ruin everything after all. This unfortunate episode is over, and we can return to normal. I suggest we leave, before German forces come to investigate, wondering why the Darwinists were so interested in this area."

Alek nodded and headed back to his walker. He paused just once to look up at the two distant specks in the sky, putting his fingers to his cheek.

In and out, just like that.

But he knew he'd remember the girl who fell from the sky for a long time.


	16. What Might Have Been, pt5

Deryn didn't look back as the Huxley rose over the treetops. Flying again was glorious – even the pain in her chest seemed to fade away. At least until Newkirk, piloting the Huxley next to her, mentioned it.

"Looks like you're got a bandage under there, Mr. Sharp," he observed, waving a hand at the uneven bulge under her shirt. His motion made the Huxley sway and she saw him look up, glaring at the beastie. Monkey Luddites. She didn't know what he was even doing in the air force.

"Hit a branch during the crash," Deryn lied easily. "Those Clankers helped me patch it up."

"Helpful Clankers," Newkirk mused. "Who'd have thought? But you should probably see a medic, in case they tried to solder you. They don't know proper medicine like we do."

"Aye, you're right." Maybe she could just get some anesthetic. The prospect of a medic seeing exactly what lay under her shirt wasn't one she wanted to consider.

They hitched onto the dorsal ridge and Deryn stepped down, feeling the comforting warmth of the _Leviathan _envelop her. This was home. The captain smiled at her in that way of his that never reached his eyes. "Mr. Sharp. We're glad to have you back."

"Glad to be here, sir," she said, saluting. "Request to go to the infirmary. I had a bit of a choppy landing."

"Certainly."

Deryn saluted again for good measure and hurried off, the pain becoming more insistent. But a squick of self-preservation led her feet not to the medical room, but to Dr. Barlow. If someone did examine her, she'd rather it be the female boffin than anyone else.

Dr. Barlow didn't look surprised when Deryn barged in. Doubtlessly the vast network of supplies Deryn was sure the woman had at her disposal had kept her informed. "Well, Mr. Sharp," she said. "Let's have a look. What caused your latest mishap?"

"I hit a tree on the way down, ma'am. A branch, to be specific." Deryn clutched her uniform protectively. "The Clankers already patched it up. I just need something for the pain, really."

"I'll be the judge of that. You couldn't have had proper disinfectants, and it would be a poor show of my capabilities if your flesh rotted off."

She insisted until Deryn finally relented and let Dr. Barlow open her shirt. She held her breath, but if the boffin saw her double bandage her only comment was, "My, we have a penchant for injury, don't we… Mr… Sharp?"

Deryn kept her face blank, but inside she was fuming. That clever boots had known the whole time! But if she wasn't going to mention it…

Dr. Barlow prodded her, sending a flash of pain through Deryn's body. "A branch, you said?"

"Aye."

"A branch containing gunpowder residue, I presume," she said dryly.

Deryn gulped. To change the subject, she asked hastily, "Are there any Clanker groups that don't favor the war? That are enemies to their own side?"

Dr. Barlow considered, unrolling a strip of gauze. "There was Archduke Franz Ferdinand, a proponent of peace. But he was assassinated. That's what started this mess, if you recall."

"Right." Deryn did remember hearing about it, thinking it barking mad that one man's death could crack the whole world's attic. But he wasn't who she was looking for. "Never mi-"

"And then there's his son, Prince Aleksander," Dr. Barlow mused. "Most likely against the current regime, as last I heard, it's out to kill him. At least, the papers say he's vanished. It's quite likely he's dead already. Are you feeling alright? You're a bit pale."

Aleksander… Alek! No wonder he'd been odd – he'd been barking royalty! "I'm fine," Deryn stammered. "Can… can I leave now?"

"Just a moment." Dr. Barlow attached the last bandage and surveyed her work. "I'm no doctor. If you see signs of infection, go to the real medics, understand?"

"Aye, ma'am." Deryn hopped down – the medicine was kicking in, smoothing away most of the pain – and went as fast as she dared to the window, watching the trees move past below. Somewhere in those woods, a certain prince was running for his life.

"Good luck," she whispered.

He was going to need it.


	17. Family Resemblance

Dylan was finally first in line at the registration booth. He bit his lip. He'd played this scene over and over in his mind. It never ended well.

The officer looked him over, his expression uninterested. After all, he had seen plenty of young men today, registering for the Royal Air Force. Dylan was nothing exceptional. "Name?"

"Dylan." The officer kept his pen poised over the paper, waiting for the last name. "Sharp," Dylan finally said, and winced.

The officer's eyebrows rose.

"My father thought it was funny," Dylan said, sighing and adding silently, And every day I curse him for it.

"Are you a girl?" the officer asked.

"No!" Dylan answered hotly. "Do I need to prove it?"

"Taking your shirt off would be fine, thank you," the officer told him, looking faintly embarrassed. "Normally we would take people on their word, but with your name…"

"I understand," Dylan said, working at a particularly stubborn button. "She's my aunt, you know."

"Really?" The officer whistled. "Your family reunions must be interesting."

Interesting. Dylan thought back to last year's, when his aunt had thrown a pepper grinder at his father and announced she was starting a revolution. "Interesting," he agreed. "You could say that."


	18. On The Net

**Note: Yep – this is crack. I thought it would be funny if Deryn ran across . Now where did she get a laptop? I have NO idea.**

Russia, Deryn had learned, was boring. Big and flat and covered with snow. After the first week, most of the crew had fallen into a bored stupor. Even the barking loris had stopped giggling half as much, instead just drowsing on her shoulder as the endless whiteness moved on below them.

But she wasn't worried. She'd found something to occupy her time.

Happily she ran her eyes down the text visible on the laptop's small screen. She wasn't quite sure what this _fanfic_ thing was, exactly, but it had her name in it, and it was something to do. Even if some of the things here made her blush, even though they weren't real. Not that she'd _mind_, some of it…

Scrolling down a little, she couldn't help a short cry of indignation. She'd died in that one! Blisters, that just wasn't right. Biting her lip, she began to compose a scathing review.

"Dylan, what _is _that?" She'd left her door open, which was all the invitation certain Austrian princes needed to come waltzing into her private quarters. Aristocrats, thinking they owned the world. Alek was eying the laptop with more suspicion than it warranted, it being a Clanker contraption and all.

"Reading about us," she explained, gesturing towards the machine and hoping there was nothing too explicit open. "We're pure dead famous, didn't you know?"

"Is it Malone's article?" He peered over her shoulder, forehead furrowing. "Yes, I see my name… but who's Deryn?"

Oh. With the speed born of desperation, she grabbed the laptop, slammed it shut, and threw it out the window before he could speak a word of protest. Alek stared at her like she'd gone completely mad, but Deryn just nonchalantly brushed her hands off on her uniform. For their sakes, she hoped Russians had thick skulls.

"That's better," she said, and smiled.


	19. Apocalypse

**Note: This fic was inspired by juicy, juicy unofficial spoilers shown to me by a helpful fellow Forumer. Yep – someone released the synopsis ahead of schedule. If you want to keep your mind pure, don't read on. Otherwise, bask in the knowledge – here's the link to the source:**.com/waterstonesweb/products/scott+westerfeld/goliath/8279212/

**Edit - Most of the source. It refuses to post the whole thing. Just google it. :/**

Tesla.

The name echoes in her mind as she lies awake, wondering. The man has done her ill enough already, building that hellish contraption that killed Zaven and almost did away with the _Leviathan _and everyone in it. The crackling tower of electricity, poised to bring down everything she loved in flames, still gives her nightmares.

Yes, he has a lot to answer for. And now he's building a weapon that can destroy half the globe.

Unlike those silly yellow journalists, Deryn has seen the world, flown around most of it. Some days, when they're high enough, she fancies she can see the planet's curve beneath her. It's a big place, she knows. If this weapon can truly devastate half of it, it makes those cannons look like child's toys.

Alek is conferring with his men over books of engineering and Clanker math, trying to prove it's impossible, that the technology doesn't exist. But she knows it's real. She can feel it in her heart.

Apparently the Great War just wasn't enough. Now Alek's barking Providence has decided to throw in the sodding apocalypse.

She should have stayed in Glasgow.


	20. Hush

**Note: Twenty pages! I'd like to thank all the reviewers who have been so kind as to encourage me on my mad obsession with the fanfic that has taken over my life. Hopefully I'll be able to make myself stop after Goliath comes out, otherwise I'm never going to get anything else done. Anyway, this one's a wee bit confusing – it's the same scene twice.**

These days, most of the conversations she has with Alek are in her head.

"Morning, Dylan. You look a bit odd. Are you all right?"

_Of course I'm not all right. I'm a barking girl! How do you look at me every day and not see that?_

"I'm fine. Just had some trouble sleeping."

"I've been thinking… about the Pope." He meets her eyes, with an expression she can't quite read. "Do you think he'll uphold the last one's decision? Keep me as an heir?"

_I hope not, but knowing the way my luck's been going, he'll probably make you the barking King of the world. Can't you just forget about that, all of it? Give up these mad dreams of being an emperor and stay here with me?_

"I suppose we'll know soon enough. Until then, what's the use in worrying about it?"

"You're right." He pauses. "Dylan… no matter what happens, you know you're my best friend, right?"

_I'm your best friend. And that's all I ever can be. Because even though I'm in love with you, you're a prince, and so you can never, ever love me back. So I'll just sit here with my heart breaking and pretend it's all fine. Because that's what best friends do, isn't it?_

All she says is, "I know."

These days, most of the conversations he has with Dylan are in his head.

"Morning, Dylan. You look a bit odd. Are you all right?"

_ You're not having nightmares again, are you? I know how it feels, to have a parent die. You don't have to pretend to be fine all the time. Goodness knows I don't._

"I'm fine. Just had some trouble sleeping."

"I've been thinking… about the Pope." He meets the boy's eyes. "Do you think he'll uphold the last one's decision? Keep me as an heir?" Silently, he tries to add, _Is it wrong for me to almost hope he doesn't? To hope to escape this mess of royalty or intrigue? Does it make me a terrible person to put my wants in front of the needs of an entire country?_

But, of course, Dylan is hardly as perspicacious as the lorises, who are no mind readers, so he only answers the question Alek posed out loud. "I suppose we'll know soon enough. Until then, what's the use in worrying about it?"

"You're right." He pauses. "Dylan… no matter what happens, you know you're my best friend, right?" _And I wish I could be like you. Brave, resourceful, free. Not bound down by rules set up by a royal family that's been around for centuries. Able to do whatever you want. You're the person I wish I had the freedom to be. I wish I could tell you that, but I know my place. I know what I have to do._

All he says is, "I know."


	21. Princess

**Note: I've done mostly Deryn POVs – probably because I'm a girl. But I'm trying to balance that out now. Alek – it's your time in the spotlight!**

"You commoners are lucky," Alek sighs, paging through the paper. There's yet another mention of some foreign princess who's supposedly pining for him. After Malone's article identifying him as the heir to Austria-Hungary, it's amazing how many girls suddenly developed affection for the boy they've never met. It's a bit aggravating, really. "You can marry whoever you want."

"Not necessarily," Dylan points out.

"Why ever not? I don't think your relationships are the subjects of international incidents." He groans and tosses the paper on the floor, no longer interested in the escapades of another dull heiress. He'll probably have to hear all about her soon enough.

"Here's an example," his friend says. "What if I fell in love with someone – kind, friendly, easy on the eyes, of course…"

"Of course." Alek can't help but smile. Dylan has never seemed to be one for relationships. He shied away from Lilit, after all, and he's never mentioned a girl back home. Perhaps the boy is setting his standards a bit too high.

"But there's a wee bit of a problem," he adds. "She's a princess."

Alek raises his eyebrows. "Breaking the hearts of princesses now, are you? First anarchists and now this. You'll have quite a reputation."

"Just listen to me," Dylan says impatiently. "She's a princess. I'm common as dirt, or bloody close. So it doesn't matter if I break her heart or not. It can never work."

He'd never thought of it that way, he realizes. Never considered the other side, the feelings of a person who was rejected because of their birth, something they couldn't control. Told that they would never be good enough. It would be an awful feeling, he thinks. But what can he do? "My advice to you," he tells Dylan, "is to never fall in love with royalty."

Dylan grins, but there's a flash of something in his eyes that's almost… regret? Bitterness? Alek can't tell. "Thanks, your princeliness. I'll work on that."


	22. Nobody

His eyes focus on insignificant details. One edge of the paper is bent, the creamy surface folded by some careless hand. The pen slipped at the bottom of a 'p' – the line of black ink wobbles a bit before steadying.

"The Holy Father says-"

"I can read Latin, Volger," he snaps. It's just that he doesn't want to say it out loud, admit it to himself. It's too much of a shock, even though he's almost been expecting it.

This year has been the equivalent of whiplash, having your head jerked backwards and forwards if your walker comes to a stop too suddenly. From nothing to heir to an empire to nothing again, just by the whim of a piece of paper. It's too much to handle.

"What do I do now?" he asks. His whole life was focused on becoming an emperor, his father's heir. Now he has no father, no emperor, and no future. And, looking up at his fencing instructor, he sees that Volger has no answers either. Marvelous.

He supposes that Dylan will want to know. Ever since the letter arrived, carried by a rather frightening two headed eagle that reminded him of his family's crest, the boy has been anxious. Pacing around, muttering under his breath… Alek decides he ought to know. He opens the door, expecting to have to go looking for him, but Dylan's waiting outside. His face turns red.

"Sorry. I just… I wanted to know as soon as possible."

Alek sighs. His friend can probably read it on his face, but he might as well get used to saying it. "The current Holy Father does not agree with the last one's verdict. I'm… I'm no longer my father's heir."

He expects the boy to frown, or say he's sorry, or at least look unhappy. What he does not expect is for Dylan to break into a broad grin and say, "Brilliant!"

"Excuse me?"

Dylan is bobbing up and down with barely contained excitement. The worst news of Alek's life appears to be the best news of his. "Oh, don't pretend you're completely disappointed. That life never would have suited you. All that official business, marriages, assassination attempts – you'd be dead tired of it within a year. Can't you see that this is so much better?"

"But I'm no one now," Alek protests. "A nobody. My whole life was spent being prepared just in case this was a possibility. And now it's not. Everyone else has a place. You have a place. But I'm… I have nothing."

"You saved my life," Dylan points out. "And the _Leviathan_. Multiple times. You helped finance an entire revolution. And-"

"But-"

"A piece of paper didn't do those things," Dylan says, meeting his eyes intently. "_You _did. And you didn't do them as a prince, either. You did them as a person. Don't you see?"

"I don't think so," Alek admits. Dylan speaks of him as if he has two different parts, parts that can exist without the other. But he's only ever seen himself as one thing. And that's been taken away.

"Being a commoner is more fun anyway," his friend says. His grin is still ridiculously broad, in danger of escaping his face entirely.

"I'm not-"

Dylan grabs the paper from Alek's hand, crumples it up, and throws it to the floor. Alek has to admit the sight gives him some satisfaction. "Come on," the boy says, grabbing his arm. "It's high time I told you something."


	23. He Steps on My Heart

"_He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It's his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry." - __The Book Thief__, Markus Zusak_

He realizes it's a bad idea the moment he does it. Their lips have barely touched when he pulls back, shaking his head. He can't do this, and he hates himself for making things a thousand times harder by pretending, for a moment, that he could.

"You can't tell anyone," he says desperately. "Promise you won't."

She stares, covering her mouth with her fingers, and he realizes that he's made his worst mistake yet.

ooo

She stares at him, not believing what he's just said. What seemed like a dream come true is rapidly becoming a nightmare. He doesn't realize, she knows, the effect he has on her. He doesn't _want_ to know that since he walked into her life, he's been stepping on her heart, and with those hasty words he's just ground his heel in deep. He's just too thick to realize it. And she's not about to tell him, is she? She's always been too proud for her own good.

"I'll never tell, your bloody Serene Highness," she spits out with venom, biting back tears. Because why _would_ she want to tell anyone she'd kissed the sodding bastard anyway?


	24. Lilit's Diary

I have officially lost hope in the male half of the human race.

When I took supper to Nene this evening, I told her all about the marvelous airman Dylan Sharp, how clever he was, how completely unlike the regular males I ran across. Pity he disliked me. But that's a reaction I inspire regularly, so I wasn't too concerned.

Nene was quick to crush my happiness, however. "Have you taken a good look at his hands, my dear?" she asked. "Or his face? The way he moves?"

"Hardly. It seems to be your job to inspect every inch of the newcomers."

"So you haven't noticed anything, then?" She settled back into her pillows, a sly smile on her face. I frowned.

"I noticed that he's much preferable to the last stray Father dragged in off the streets. What is it, Nene? I can tell you're dying to tell me something."

"I'm rather disappointed you haven't noticed it yourself. Dylan Sharp is as much a boy as you are."

"That's not true!" I began to protest. But Nene just laughed, and a blush quickly rose to my features as I realized it was. How had I missed it? His – _her _– clear affection for the irritating prince made a lot more sense now, at least. She was welcome to him. I felt my blush deepen as I realized I had been singing the praises of another girl.

But my respect for her – whoever she was – hadn't lessened. It took bravery, to be a woman in this current world. She was doing the best she could. We all were. And I had just the idea to help her disguise gain a little more credibility.

"Thank you, Nene," I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Then I came back here, to write this down and put the final touches on my plan. With my help, no one will ever guess 'Dylan' Sharp is a girl.

I have the perfect farewell present.


	25. Prehistoric

**Note: Crack/crossover. I was reading Jurassic Park and couldn't help but think, the Darwinists wouldn't be impressed by this at ALL. And so this fic came about.**

"And this is a triceratops."

The assembled American boffins oohed and ahhed. Deryn rolled her eyes. "It's a bit repetitive, don't you think?"

The old man stared at her indignantly. These Americans were touchy. "What do you mean, little girl?"

Little girl? She was a decorated war hero! Letting it pass, she explained, "Big, scaly, sharp teeth, pointy horns. They're all basically the same thing, aren't they?"

"The diphlosaurs spit poison."

"Well, that's better..." Deryn and Alek exchanged glances. After the Leviathan and Behemoth, these 'dinosaurs' weren't too impressive. "Do you have anything that can carry messages, or drop darts, or eat ships?"

"Perhaps. Dr. Wu's still growing the latest batch, so we'll have to wait to see what turns out."

Dr. Barlow stiffened in science-inspired outrage. "You mean you grow fabrications without knowing what they are? I know Americas are a bit cavalier with their technology, but this is ridiculous."

"I assure you, ma'am," Wu promised, "everything is under control."

"Wait for it," the pale mathematician, Malcolm, said under his breath.

They all fell silent as a fat, bespectacled man ran across the road screaming, pursued by a pack of velociraptors.

"You didn't fabricate them to be friendly?" Deryn asked, horrified.

"This is why machines are better," she heard Alek say. "They don't try to eat you."

"Well, that _could _be a tactical advantage," she mused. "Say you point them in the general direction of a Clanker army and duck-"

Dr. Barlow interrupted her, smiling coldly at the scientist, who'd gone pale. "Everything's under control?" she asked, eyebrow arched.

"Idiot," Malcolm sighed.


	26. You Can't Stop Progress

Dr. Nora Darwin Barlow had always been considered progressive. She was, after all, one of the only female fabricators. And she had suggested the revolutionary approach that had resulted in the experimental perspicacious lorises. But in this matter she felt very conservative indeed.

"What do you think?" Dr. Fleming asked. He was a small man, with clever, searching eyes. She hadn't liked him from the start. Now she knew her intuition had been right.

"I think it's perfectly horrible," she answered. "And against several laws."

'Laws can be changed," he said with a wave of his hand. "They won't stand in the way of scientific progress."

She knew it was true. The science of fabrication kept the country running, and so had a hefty voice in Parliament. "But consider the ethical implications. You don't know what you could create. And what effect would it have on their minds?"

"That's what experiments are for – to find out." He frowned. "I suppose it's your female weakness that makes this so distasteful for you. Perhaps you never should have entered this field. It is not the place for you."

"I don't think it is," she said, and tossed her hat to the ground. "I quit. Or at least quit working with you. But I hope you listen to me and rethink this fool's errand."

Dr. Fleming watched as she stormed out of the laboratory. Good riddance. Then he pushed open a door and stepped inside. Rows of glass tubes contained unrecognizable balls of cells that would soon become human embryos. Well, almost human, anyway. He tapped one tube with a fingernail, raising a clink that to him sounded like a chime of victory. "Too late," he said, and smiled.

**Note: For those of you following my other fic, And Still They Wonder Why, it's going to be a while before it's out. A last chapter – especially for a story like that – takes time to get it right. Sorry.**


	27. Picture Perfect

Eddie Malone couldn't believe his luck. That Austrian prince in Istanbul had been a journalist's dream. The story he'd written – full of international intrigue, tragedy, and suspense – had turned him from a regular writer to a star. People knew his name now. Even Mr. Hearst had given him a congratulatory nod.

And now the same boy was here, in New York City. Malone had no doubt that there was more to his story. A follow-up piece would cement his standing as star reporter. Now if only he could get him alone.

Unfortunately, the Scottish midshipman never seemed to leave his side. The soldier with a secret. Malone had spent long hours puzzling over the conversation he'd overheard, the almost blackmail-like exchange between the boy and the Austrian wildcount. Now, having had the chance to observe him more closely, he thought he knew the answer. And what a story that would make!

He got his chance at a party hosted by Mr. Hearst himself. Plenty of reporters were skulking around, but he was the only one to see the pair mumble some excuses and duck out a side door. Nudging his memory frog awake, he followed.

It seemed the boy _had _learned the other's secret. At least, Malone hoped he had. He didn't say anything, so as to not invade their privacy. Instead, he aimed his camera and clicked the button.

At the flash, the two jumped apart, looking scandalized. "That'll make the front page for sure," Malone announced cheerfully.

The girl – at least he thought she was female – made a fist. "Not if your murder beats it."

Malone ignored her. "Image the headline," he said dreamily. "Star crossed lovers separated by the fog of war…"

"Give me your sword, Alek," she said shortly. "I'm going to kill him."

"Yes, perhaps that's a bit over-dramatic. What do you think?"

"I think that you had better not publish that," the boy said quietly.

Malone shook his head. "Look kid, I'm a journalist. It's my job to tell people the truth. You want me to just tell the world what's convenient for you?"

"You'd be ruining both our lives," the girl insisted. Malone had met some drama queens in his time, but this girl was getting worked up. "You don't understand. I'll lose my job. He'll lose a barking country!"

"If I haven't lost it already," the prince muttered.

Malone sighed. An image of a fat bonus from Mr. Hearst faded from view as he saw the desperation on both of their faces. But there had to be some way to salvage something from this situation. "I'll make you a deal, all right?"

"I better like it, or I'll have to knock you down and throw that sodding camera of yours in the Hudson," the girl answered, folding her arms. The boy put a hand on her shoulder. Malone wasn't sure if it was to calm her down, or to restrain her.

"I don't print this," he offered. "And I don't write anything about your… ahem… female status. In exchange, when your secret comes out – and it will eventually, dearie, don't think it won't – I get an exclusive interview. Deal?"

She glanced uncertainly at the prince and then nodded. "Deal."

They shook on it.


	28. All the King's Men

**Note: Continuing my recent obsession with non-main characters...**

"The Archduke is dead."

"Mein Gott," Volger said quietly. He'd warned Franz not to go to Sarajevo, told him it was dangerous. As heir to Austria-Hungary and a proponent of peace, he had his pick of enemies. But Volger had never truly believed Franz would die. He was too alive – always staunchly arguing for his views, fighting to marry the woman he loved, piloting his war machines incessantly back and forth across the parade grounds. And Sophie… Volger sighed. She shouldn't have been sucked into this in the first place. If Franz had just listened… but he never did. It was yet another thing the royal couple - and their son - shared in common.

Volger had to admit they'd loved each other. But what had love gotten them? A cup of poison each in a far away city.

"What will we do about the prince?" Bauer asked. "The Germans did it. They'll be coming soon."

Prince Aleksander – an orphan, even though he didn't know it yet. Volger didn't look forward to this conversation. The boy was too young, too innocent – but that couldn't be helped now. In theory, he was sleeping, but in truth he was probably awake, playing his war games, not knowing that war was a lot closer than he thought.

"I'll wake him," Volger finally said. "We have to get him out of here."

He opened the door, heart heavy. They could wake Aleksander. They could run, they could hide. They could give him his letter and win him back his rightful throne and pretend that that made everything all right. But they couldn't put his shattered life back together again.


	29. Sleepless

**Note: In Behemoth, Alek and Deryn share a hotel room for at least one night. I couldn't help but think that this would be… awkward.**

_I really need to find a different place to sleep_, Deryn thinks, tossing and turning on the narrow sofa. If she's being perfectly honest, the sofa isn't the problem. It's soft enough, probably worth more than a year's salary, knowing this posh hotel. No, the problem is the boy sleeping across the room without a care in the world, like he hasn't fallen in with a bunch of daft anarchists.

The arrangement makes sense. She isn't even supposed to be here. She can't exactly waltz in and reserve a room in enemy territory. And _Dylan_ wouldn't have any objections to it.

The problem is, she isn't Dylan.

With a sigh, she swings her legs off the couch. She's still wearing her uniform. Better to look eccentric than risk Alek getting a glimpse of her without her careful tailoring to hide behind.

She walks over, light as a feather, silent as-

_Creak_

Blisters, you'd think a hotel that charges this much wouldn't have squeaky floors. Gingerly she lifts her foot, wincing at the complaints of the wood planks underneath the carpet. Then she crosses the remaining distance.

She has absolutely no excuses ready if Alek wakes up and sees her looking down at him with her feelings written clear as day all over her face. But, a typical fifteen year old boy, he doesn't even twitch. She wonders if he'd notice a barking circus.

As she stands there, her pains and worries seem to drain away. Just looking at this boy makes all her troubles vanish, filling her with a glow that used to only come from flying. It doesn't make any barking sense. This love thing is more trouble than it's worth. Otherwise she wouldn't be sleepless in the middle of the night, mooning over something she can't have. Again.

Avoiding the squeaky board this time, she returns to the couch. She slumps down, putting a hand over her eyes.

Yes, she really needs to find another place to sleep.

**Note: If you're following And Still They Wonder Why, I've been glaring at a blank screen for days. But I'm forcing myself to get it done by the end of the week. Promise.**


	30. Farewells

**Note: Wow - number 30. I can't believe I've gone on so long. Super grateful for the wonderful reviews you've been giving me. I guess now we press on.**

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Part of him wanted to say yes, to say that he couldn't keep himself together without her. But he shook his head. "I have to do this alone."

"I understand," she said quietly, and moved back. Alek nodded, and stepped through the doorway alone.

Inside the small stone building at Arstetten Castle, it was cool, unlike the hot summer day outside. His eyes were immediately drawn to the two stone coffins, side by side in the center of the space. Walking forward, he placed a wreath of flowers on each.

"Mother, Father," he began. "It's been a year. And I miss you. You wouldn't believe all the things that have happened since you've been gone. There's been a war, and I fell in with Darwinists and anarchists of all things, and..." he glanced back at the doorway, where Deryn was waiting. "A lot of other things."

He checked the names, carved deep into marble, and moved to the one that read 'Archduke Franz Ferdinand'. It was his father he really wanted to talk to, after all.

"Father," he began, and winced, as if he could actually hear him. "The Empire's gone. I'm afraid I was closer to the hand that pushed it over than the one that held it up. I wish you'd been there, to say what you thought of my choices, but I think you'd be proud of me. You and Mother of all people know that a famous name is worthless if you're not happy. And I'm happier this way. I think the world is a better place now. At least I hope it is. I just wish you were here to see it."

He'd run out of words, so with one last glance he turned and walked out of the crypt, wiping a few stray tears away.

"Are you all right?" she asked when he emerged into sunlight again.

"Better than I was," he replied with a nod.

"My lord?" she asked jokingly, offering her hand. He wasn't a lord anymore, of course, or anything. But he found it had lost its sting. Not so bad, after all, to be a commoner.

"My lady," he answered with a half bow. Then, hand in hand, they left the graves of his parents behind them.

He didn't look back.


	31. Expecting

**Note: If you check Nora Barlow's Wiki entry, she was married with two children by 1914. And matching up the times, she'd probably be… well, read on and find out.**

"You are aware, of course, that I am pregnant."

Alek's eyes widened. Dylan swore, choked, and spat tea across the tabletop. Dr. Barlow handed him a napkin with eyebrows raised. The boy wiped his mouth, coughed, and asked incredulously,

"You're what?"

"Pregnant. Evidently you were not aware." The woman sighed. "Did you even know I was married? You seem to know the personal histories of our prisoners better than your own crewmates."

Dylan turned red. "You're not exactly my crewmate. And Alek told me all of his secrets. You hardly advertised that you're…" he shuddered.

Alek tried to look at Dr. Barlow with new eyes, trying to notice any incriminating signs. But there was nothing he could see. "Why are you telling us?"

"I will soon get to the point where it is not concealable," she said simply. "Although it is quite easy to conceal things on this ship, isn't it, _Mr. _Sharp?"

Dylan's face got even redder. "Maybe."

"Anyway," Dr. Barlow pressed on, "I may need your assistance."

"If you think I'm going to be a barking midwife just because –" Dylan protested before falling into an abrupt and sullen silence.

"Hardly. I have plenty of time left. I hope we'll have returned to London by then. But if I need anything…"

"Aye, I'll hold a bucket for you," the midshipman said irritably. As Dr. Barlow left, he turned to Alek. "A sodding baby. Think of what that will do to the weight balance. We'll have to chuck something else off the ship." His eyes turned thoughtful. "D'you think between the two of us, we could lift Newkirk out a window?"


	32. Mistakes and Reparations

Ever since that awful day, her life had spiraled downhill.

Kicked out of the army.

Sent back home.

Forced to wear those awful dresses.

Not seeing anyone. Not Alek, not Dr. Barlow, not Bovril. She even missed Count Volger and Newkirk, sometimes. But only when she was getting really nostalgic.

And then came a knock at the door.

ooo

It took him a while to realize the mistakes he'd made.

How the life he'd fought so hard for wasn't worth it.

Locked in a palace – you'd think the heir to an empire could pilot a walker if he wanted to.

Forced into dull negotiations and even duller parties.

Missing everything – his old life, the adventures he'd had, his best friend who'd turned out to be a girl and promptly vanished from his life forever…

It had taken him a while to get up the nerve to ask, but once he did, finding the address was simple. A small, low building in the middle of Glasgow. About as far away from the sky as you could get. He cursed himself for waiting so long.

_Maybe she's gone. Maybe she found something else. Maybe she won't forgive you._

_Only one way to find out._

He summoned up all his courage and knocked.

The door opened, and there she was. A little older, a little sadder, but the same girl he remembered, a little bit of Dylan still lingering, letting him know he hadn't made a mistake.

The smile he knew so well quirked the edges of her mouth.

"Took you long enough," she said.


	33. Surprise, pt1

His Serene Highness Aleksander Ferdinand, Prince of Austria-Este, was not amused.

"Is this absolutely necessary?" he asked, tugging at the strip of cloth that had been tied over his eyes.

"Yep, your princliness," Dylan affirmed, pulling it tight again. "Can't risk you getting a peek, now can I?"

"A peek of what?" he asked, irritated.

"Can't say," his friend said, steering him by his shoulders. "Now come on."

They walked for quite a bit longer than Alek thought completely necessary, considering they were on an airship. There was only so far you could go, wasn't there? Unless the boy was walking him in circles to make him further confused.

"Are we almost there?" he finally demanded.

"Right this way," Dylan replied. He felt the boy's grip on his shoulders release, and rubbed one.

"You didn't have to hold me so tightly. I wasn't going to run off."

"You're a prisoner of war." Judging by his tone, he was probably grinning. "There's no saying what daft ideas might enter into your wicked Clanker brain, aye?"

Alek sighed. "Just lead me to the firing squad and be done with it."

"Your wish is my command." He heard the sound of a knob being turned, and then Dylan's sure fingers were untying the knot at the back of his head. As the cloth fell away, Alek saw a small group of people waiting for him. Volger, Bauer, Hoffman, Klopp – but what mad reason would Dr. Barlow have for being there?

"What is this?" he asked.

Dylan grinned. "Happy birthday, Aleksander."


	34. Surprise, pt2

"I've never celebrated my birthday inside a flying whale before."

"Well, you could have it _outside _the flying whale, if you prefer, but I wouldn't recommend it. The barking cake would keep flying in your face whenever we got into a firefight, wouldn't it?"

"Are we likely to get into one?" Alek asked, wisely not disputing the word cake, which only loosely defined what resembled nothing less than an explosion in a baker's shop. Dylan had proudly announced that he'd made it himself out of ingredients he'd pinched from the mess when no one had been looking.

"First thing I've cooked in years without my ma forcing me to," he'd admitted, serving it.

Taking a bite, Alek wondered why Dylan's mother had bothered.

He'd completely forgotten that he turned sixteen that day. Normally for his birthday there would be a feast, gifts, and hundreds of guests. Best of all, his father would take him out for a few stolen hours of walker piloting while his mother pretended not to notice.

Instead, he was on a Darwinist airship, considered a prisoner of war, choking down something that was barely edible. Not that he'd tell Dylan that, of course. But his eyes stung a little bit as he realized that this was the first birthday his parents wouldn't attend. His first birthday without them.

"I've got something for you," Dylan said.

"How did you even know it was my birthday? _I _didn't remember."

The boy shrugged. "Volger told me. Here – take a look." He handed him a thick sheaf of papers, the ends ragged, as if they'd been torn out. Sketchbook pages, he realized.

Volger. Who would have known? Alek flipped through the papers. They were drawings, all amazingly realistic and done in perfect detail. There was the moldering castle in Switzerland, Alek himself holding medicine kits, Dylan in uniform, the _Leviathan _with its new Stormwalker engines… He paged further and saw both of them fencing on the spine, a sketch of Bovril asleep in Lilit's lap, and all three of them piloting a djinn through the streets of Istanbul. He looked up. "These are amazing. How'd you have time to draw them all?"

Dylan shrugged, a blush rising over his features. "They're for when you leave," he explained. "So you can remember."

"How could I ever forget?"

"This must be a pure dead awful birthday, compared to what you're used to," the boy added. "I know the cake is barking disgusting, by the way. You don't have to worry about hurting my feelings."

Alek looked around. His crew, despite the food, looked like they were enjoying themselves. Volger hadn't cracked a smile, but that was to be expected. Dr. Barlow was inspecting the cake as if trying to classify its species. And Dylan, his best friend, was standing in front of him, a dejected look on his face. All of them here – for him.

"No," he said, "it's not pure dead awful at all."


	35. Like Father, Like Daughter, pt1

Hot air balloons. Not as good as a hydrogen breather by any stretch, but better than nothing when you were a lass kicked out of the army. And nothing was the only other option.

"How high does this go?" Alek asked. Deryn had taken him along, not sure if his love for flying on the Leviathan would translate to a balloon. He was eying the fragile wickerwork basket with considerable dismay.

"Not as high as the Leviathan, or as far. But I remember when my da took me up as a little girl. I thought it was magnificent. I still do."

"You really miss him, don't you?" Alek asked, voice soft.

"Yes. Sometimes I-" Deryn began. But then an all too familiar noise caught her attention, and her eyes widened. Suddenly she was a child again, and the fuel of her father's balloon was ablaze.

No, she protested silently. No one's luck was that bad. Not even hers.

Apparently it was.

For a moment, as flames licked the sides of the basket, she was frozen. And then, in an instant, she knew. Part of her even welcomed it. Hadn't she known it would always end like this?

Was this how her father felt? she wondered. All the doubt, all the fear wiped away by an unshakeable, calm clarity?

"What do we do?" Alek asked, panicked.

"Check the ropes – see if they're on fire," she ordered calmly. When he hesitated, she shouted "Now!"

He ran to the basket's edge and peered over, straining to get a better view. As he did, Deryn gave him the hardest shove she could. He'd balanced his weight all wrong – typical Clanker – and tumbled over the side, hitting the ground with a thud. His angry shouts told her he was alright, although she was in no position to help him even if he wasn't. The thought brought a strange sense of relief. No princes to rescue, no revolutions to fight for… just a few minutes left to enjoy one last flight.

"See you soon, Da," she whispered, and waited for the ropes to snap and the earth to fall away beneath her.


	36. Blood Will Tell

**Note: The story I started last time **_**will **_**continue – I'm just too lazy to write it right now. It was going to be a oneshot, but some forumers told me I should let her live so… you have that to look forward to. For now, beware. Female content ahead. O.o**

When Deryn first woke up, she thought she was injured. She couldn't think up another logical explanation. But as her mind cleared, her heart sank. Looking at the stains of brownish-red decorating her sheet, she knew exactly what it was.

As the months had gone by, she'd hoped that for once her body was doing her a favor. But now she realized that it had just been holding off for maximum effect. She wondered angrily if bodies could have it in for you. If so, hers definitely did.

Grumbling to herself, she gathered up the stained cloth and examined it. It wasn't much, really, but looked like a lot since there shouldn't be any there at all. Boys, as far as she knew, didn't just bleed for no apparent reason. Unless Jaspert had neglected to mention it.

She'd need rags and a way to explain the blood. There was, Deryn decided, only one good decision in that regard. Unfortunately, it would involve pain.

Gritting her teeth, she took her rigging knife and dragged it across the palm of her hand. Blood welled up from the cut, which she let fall to further mar the sheets. Then, when she was satisfied, she let out a yell of pain. "Grabbed my sodding rigging knife by the sharp end!" she added at the top of her lungs.

"Well, you don't have to go on about it," she heard Newkirk shout back through the wall.

There. Hopefully that would stave off any questions. Hastily she dressed in clean clothes, ripping up an old undershirt as a makeshift cloth. Then, bundling up the bloody sheet, she carried it out the door, trying not to let it touch her. "Barking blood," she muttered to herself. "It's not like I want to have sodding babies anyway."

"Did you say something?"

Blisters, could you bleed to death in private anywhere on this ship? "Nothing, Dr. Barlow," she managed, sidestepping the boffin and continuing on her way. If she'd gotten a better look at any of those bloodstains, a few awkward questions might have resulted. Such as why they were already browning when she had only cut her hand a few minutes ago.

Deryn sighed. Life was already complicated enough.


	37. Like Father, Like Daughter, pt2

**Note: A wee bit cheesy? Perhaps. **

"Jump, Deryn, jump!"

Startled, she looked down. The ropes were still blazing, but they hadn't broken yet. Alek was standing, shouting at her.

_This isn't how it's supposed to go_, the part of her that was still lost in memories protested. But her common sense responded, _This isn't my father's life. It's mine._

Deryn Sharp gathered her courage, and jumped.

As she fell, the ropes snapped, a string of fire whipping past her face. Then she hit the ground with a crack.

"That'd be the arm," she muttered, feeling pain scream up her side. She sat up slowly, to make sure nothing else was broken. Her body ached where she'd hit the hard packed dirt, but she was considerably better than expected. She'd thought she'd be on fire right about now.

Alek helped her stand, not putting any pressure on her broken arm. "Let's get you home."

Even years after the war, Ma still hadn't warmed up to the Clanker who spent time with her daughter. When Alek half walked, half carried Deryn into her house, she pointed a finger at him and said, "Get out."

"Ma, it was an accident," Deryn protested. Why did she always have to think the worst of everything? "It was my fault."

"Then I will have words with you alone. Shoo."

Alek left after he'd made sure Deryn could make it to the couch and sit unaided. She was sorry to see him go. Now she had no quick escape if Ma decided to unleash her full hellish fury.

"What happened?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

"The balloon caught fire. I had to jump." She didn't add that she'd pushed Alek out first. It was already too much like what had happened to Da for comfort. She could tell that Ma knew it too. There was pain in her eyes.

"This is why I didn't want you flying," she said quietly. "It killed your father. It almost killed you." She considered her daughter sadly. "You sent the boy out first, didn't you?"

Deryn nodded.

"You daft lassie," she sighed. "You're too much like your father. He loved the air more than he loved me too." She held up her hand before her daughter could protest. "Don't argue. I'm sure your friend wants to make sure you're alright, and that I haven't shouted at you. That arm will need looking at as well. Not the first bone you've broken, I daresay."

Deryn limped over to her mother and kissed her on the cheek. She was taller than her now, she realized. "I do love you, Ma," she whispered, and walked outside.

"Was she too hard on you?"

"Not really." Deryn ran fingers up and down her broken arm. It wasn't too bad – probably just a crack somewhere. A few weeks in a cast would sort it out.

"You saved my life," Alek commented. "Again."

"You saved mine," she answered, not meeting his eyes.

"You would have jumped."

"No. Actually, I wouldn't have."

Alarm sparked in his green eyes. "Why not?"

She shrugged. "It was so like what happened to Da… I almost wondered if the world was punishing me somehow, because his death really _was_ my fault."

"That's mad."

"If you haven't learned by now that I'm the daftest girl in Scotland, Aleksander Ferdinand, I'm afraid there's no hope left for you."

"Fair point." He frowned at her arm. "You need to have a medic see to that. But once it's fixed… are you going to fly again? There're only so many times you can nearly get killed."

"Of course I'll fly again," she shot back, surprised he'd even ask. "It's quite daft of course, but if you'd been listening, you'd know that."

"I thought so." He grinned, and Deryn could almost hear her father's voice. _That's my girl._


	38. Confessions

[**Note: I haven't updated in forever. Sorry. Other projects have beckoned, including a novel. You'd think after writing four I'd know better, but apparently not. Anyway, here's a short bit of kinda crack. Dialogue spine only... because it's funny that way. At least to me.]**

"Alek... I'm dying. I have to tell you something."  
"Wait just a-"

"Just listen! I'm a girl. I'm in love with you. And I chucked that sodding scroll of yours off the Leviathan while we were over the Pacific."

"Dylan, the wound isn't life threatening. You're not going to die."

"Oh. ...Blisters."

"Wait, what did you say about my scroll?"


	39. Sisterly Affection

**Note: I thought it would be fun to do an anxious dad reaction to the enemy boyfriend thing, but as Deryn has no dad... here we go. Apologies to Jaspert, who is not such a jerk in canon.**

Alek was trying to pretend he didn't hear the argument, but it was getting progressively more difficult. Of course, when someone is shouting at the top of their lungs about you in the other room, it often means they wish for you to hear them.

"It's not right and it's not decent. The war's just over - they're still _enemies_, Deryn. Can't you see that?"

A gusty sigh. "Not every Clanker is out to kill you, Jaspert. You're not that bloody important."

"But I ran into plenty that were. Some of my men were killed by Clankers, and here you brought one to Glasgow to _sightsee._"

"He's different, how many times do I have to tell you? He's saved my life more times than I'd care to admit. He fixed our ship, he saved us all..."

"And it got him a sweet deal, didn't it, sis? A free pass into enemy territory and a lass to boot, eh?"

Alek gritted his teeth. It was probably a good thing that his pride had taken a severe beating since he'd met Deryn - a year ago he would have challenged Jaspert to a duel several times over by now. But it would hardly endear Deryn to him if he ran her brother through. She'd told him several times already that she could take care of herself.

"I've defended you to everyone. Plenty of the neighbors thought you'd gone mad and lost all decency, going off to the army as a boy. I had to teach a few of my friends a lesson when they said maybe it was because you preferred women's company. They've stopped saying that, but if you insist on dragging this... this Clanker bastard all over Scotland, they'll say worse. They'll think you couldn't find a decent man here; they'll make you out to have been some sort of slut picking up people around the world -"

"I don't care what they say," she screamed back, but Alek had had enough.

Walking through the parlor door, he said clearly, "You have gone too far, Jaspert Sharp."

Deryn spun around to face him. "Alek, you dummkopf! I can take care of myself. Don't go all princely on me!"

"I'm just trying to protect you," Jaspert snapped, and stormed out the door.

Deryn sat down with a thud, head in hands. "Men," she groaned.

"He insulted your honor," Alek insisted. "I couldn't just let him."

"He meant well," she said through her fingers. "He's afraid people we know will say all that. He didn't mean it. Not really. Just wait until he cools down. You know Scots - quick tempers, all of us."

"I had noticed that."

She smiled shakily. "Don't worry, I'll get my revenge."

"Will you let me duel him after all?" he asked hopefully.

"No, silly." She grinned. "I'll put frogs in his bed."

"Oh. That's a bit... unconventional."

"Sisterly affection," she answered. "That's how we show it in Glasgow."


	40. Pride

**Note: At the last forum meet up, Scott Westerfeld officially proclaimed Lilit to be a lesbian. I've seen lots of Alek/Deryn modern day fics, so I thought, why not?**

She'd spent half her savings on a plane ticket, suffered coach class air travel while the other passengers shot her suspicious glances, and landed in a foreign country with nowhere to go, but Lilit was happy to be in New York City.

All around her were people _like _her. You didn't find many of them back in Istanbul. To be fair, Lilit herself hadn't known until she'd fallen for the cute young pilot, only to realize that 'he' was actually a she. Being practical, she'd taken it in stride, but being a lesbian wasn't always easy in Turkey.

"It's not like it's _19_11," she'd complained, but the fact was, she didn't have the same rights as everyone else. So when the state of New York passed a gay marriage law, Lilit had to be there. Just once, at least, she wanted to celebrate being equal.

The state system didn't make much sense to her. What was the point of a single country if it was divided into fifty smaller sections that argued, fought, and made their own laws? You'd never get anything done that way.

On the other hand, no part of Turkey seemed ready to pass similar reforms, so perhaps there was something to be said for the state system after all.

Back home, equal rights would continue at its current crawling pace. Lilit's first crush was probably being dragged across several continents at the moment by the silly rich boy who thought he could magically end World War III. All around her, the world was seething in constant change – some for the worse, and some, like this march in New York, for the better. But at the moment, Lilit was exactly where she wanted to be.


	41. Split Seconds

**Note: I've been gone forever. I'm very sorry. With band camp and getting an inkpop account, it's been crazy. As I've mentioned that, I'll blatantly self promote and suggest that if you want to read something original by me, I've linked to my inkpop from my profile. Back to the fic.**

The most important decisions in battle, Zaven thinks, are often the ones made instantaneously. He knows what he has to do. It's clear as day, illuminated by the gathering lightning on the struts of the Tesla cannon. The prince and his airman friend will try to bring it down, but he can already tell it won't be enough.

Looking up through his viewport, he sees the silhouette of the airship growing nearer. He doesn't have much time. If they are shot down, the revolution will fail, and the Sultan will make sure the rebels never have another chance.

He can't let that happen. There's no help for it. He begins piloting Samerhan forward, hoping his daughter will understand.

The Minotaur wavers, and then begins to move towards the nearest elephant. "Good girl," Zaven murmurs under his breath.

ooo

Lilit stares at her father's walker, trying to figure out why he's moving so purposefully towards the Tesla cannon. Then the realization hits her mind like the lightning crackling through the air. He means to bring it down himself.

_Daddy, no!_ the younger part of her wants to cry, the younger part that remembers her mother's death years ago. Ruthlessly, she pushes the part of her that was Zaven's daughter away, letting the revolutionary part take hold. Seeing the elephant that blocks her father's path, she slams the Minotaur into it, pretending she isn't assisting in her father's death. Refusing to think about what she's allowed him to do.

ooo

Bovril sees, perched on the shoulder of the boy-who-is-not-a-boy. Everything comes together elegantly, pure logic resulting in the goddess walker's actions. Like the pattern of evolution itself – cause and effect. Simple as that. Bovril crouches lower to watch the walker's progress, mimicking the crackle of the cannon warming up. Sometimes it is a burden, being perspicacious.

ooo

Right before he reaches the cannon, Zaven hesitates. Behind him, Istanbul is in the throes of a revolution. With the Darwinist's help, the Sultan will be overthrown. He's sure of it. He only wishes he could be able to see his daughter in the glorious new world they'll help create. But that is not his path. If the cannon falls, so would the empire. He just won't be there to see it.


	42. Trading Places

"Wake up, please wake up!"

"It's no use, child. He's gone. That amount of electricity - no one can survive that."

"Breathe, dammit, why won't you breathe? We've gone through too much for you to just _stop_."

"Why won't you step away?"

The girl looks at the crowd with wild, tear-filled eyes. Behind her, the boy in the charred flightsuit is motionless. "Because," she whispers, "it was supposed to be me."


	43. School Days, pt1?

**So I did a modern day Lilit, and it got me thinking about a modern day Deryn and Alek... how the whole story would play out. Can't promise I'll continue this, but enjoy.**

Her mother, Deryn reckons, is barking mad.

The whole world is gearing up for war since Germany decided to pick a fight _again_, and where does Mrs. Sharp send her daughter?

Switzerland.

"It's a neutral country," her ma had told her. "And a lovely private school. You'll be safe there."

"I'll hate it," Deryn replied stubbornly. Scotland was her home - the rugged mountains and wide skies reminding her of her da every day. It was where she belonged - not some country on the border of a war.

"Hate it or not, you're going." And that was the end of that.

She'd protested in her own way, of course. Ma had thrown a fit when Deryn had cut her hair short. "It makes you look like a boy," she'd snapped, as Deryn tried to explain that long hair got in your way while you were flying a plane. "Besides, your father... can't take you flying anymore."

"That doesn't mean I'll never fly again," she shot back. Just to spite her, she'd insisted on buying a boy's uniform for school. A school with a uniform. She knew it would be awful already.

And sure enough, when she walks into her first class, she's already getting stares. A lone Scot in a sea of Clankers.

"Name?" the biology teacher asks, sparing her a sharp look.

"Deryn Sharp."

"Take a seat, Darren."

Deryn wonders if she should argue about the slight mispronunciation of her name, and decides it's not worth it. Nervously, she cranes her neck, looking for a seat. There - an empty chair. She slides into it without a second thought, glad to be out of the spotlight. Warily, she glances around to register her surroundings.

Her jaw drops. She shuts it hastily, hoping she isn't drooling, or blushing, or anything else obvious. Hastily she looks down at her lap, wondering.

Because the boy sitting on her left is pure dead gorgeous.

She sneaks another peek at him. He's completely ignoring her, of course - which is rather nice, after being stared at - and watching the professor with a glazed look in his eyes. His beautiful, sad, green eyes...

_Snap out of it_! she orders herself. _This is not the time to chase after boys._ _You want to get out of here, remember? _

But there's no harm in looking.

ooo

Lunch is not much fun.

First of all, the food tastes like clart. It's school, so it's to be expected, but it's not even Scottish clart. There's no haggis to be seen.

When she has her tray, she looks around the dining hall. Everywhere she looks, she's met with a hostile glare. Sighing, she sticks her apple in her pocket, dumps the rest of the food into a trash can, and walks aimlessly into the hall.

She's managed to get herself good and lost when she hears running footsteps behind her. It's two boys, and they don't look friendly.

"It's the Scot," one says. "Thinks he's so much better than us, not eating in the same room and all." His accent is German. Deryn gulps. This isn't good at all.

"Get him," the other one says. She doesn't have time to correct him - his fist is swinging into her face. _That's a black eye for sure, _she decides, before the other boy catches her in the stomach.

She gets in a few good blows, but it's two against one, and she doesn't stand a chance. Eventually she pretends to be unconscious, lying on the floor and wondering why no one's come to help. Does everyone in this barking school hate her? Eventually they get bored, and she stays there, in too much pain and depression to sit up.

"Are you all right?"

Deryn opens her eyes. "Nng," she croaks.

The gorgeous boy from biology takes this as a no and opens the first aid kit he has beside him. "Where are you hurt?" His accent isn't German, but close - perhaps Austrian? Either way, he speaks English perfectly.

"Everywhere," she groans.

He dabs at a cut above her eyebrow with gauze. His touch sends little sparks of electricity down her spine. "What happened?"

"Two boys... took exception to me for some reason. How did you know I needed help?"

He shrugs, embarrassed. "I heard them running by, and guessed they were up to no good. I was in a room not far from here."

"It's lunch time," she points out.

A hint of a blush creeps across his face. "I... have a tutor. For special lessons. I'm not behind or anything," he adds sharply. "My tutor didn't want me to leave, but I insisted. You aren't the first person those two have hurt."

"I'm glad you came." Deryn tries to sit up, wincing as her stomach twinges. "I never caught your name."

"Aleksander. You're Darren?"

"Yes. That's a bloody long name, isn't it? What do your friends call you?"

"Friends?" His expression is puzzled, and she wonders if the sadness she saw in him earlier was pure dead loneliness. "My mother calls - called - me Alek, sometimes."

"Alek it is, then." Called him? Deryn opens her mouth to ask when a man strides down the hall, eyes flashing over the largest mustache she's ever seen.

"Aleksander? Are you quite finished? We have work to do."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Volger," Alek says, eyes down. "I was helping Darren recover-"

"Well, the boy looks fine now. Come."

The two walk off, Alek shooting Deryn a regretful glance as he goes. Deryn, however, doesn't see it. Her stomach sinks to her toes as she thinks, _Boy?_


	44. Wrapup 1

**Warning! Goliath spoilers ahead! I thought Scott did us a disservice not showing Volger's reaction to certain... ah... events, so here 'tis. :D**

When the time came to choose, everything was so clear, so _right. _The hazy veil that had hung over the world suddenly lifted, and his actions were as clear as the bright shards of sunlight reflecting off the water at their feet. Life had suddenly, for the first time in years, made sense.

Still, Alek isn't looking forward to explaining this to Volger. He has a feeling that the man won't see it the same way.

He squeezes the doorknob of the Count's temporary hotel room so tightly it hurts, then turns it and walks inside.

Volger sits buried in newsprint, a thousand clippings in a hundred different languages strewn across the desk and the floor. Alek doubts the man can even read all of the stories, but he's relentless in his quest to stay informed. Anything to ensure that Alek gains the throne at last.

He swallows once, hard. This may be trickier than he'd hoped.

Volger looks up, and if his eyebrows hadn't been burned off, he'd probably be raising them. After all, even with nerves tearing his stomach to shreds, Alek can't stop smiling - grinning like a barking loon, Deryn would probably say. Because everything is finally all right, even if he doesn't know it yet.

Suddenly, this isn't so hard.

"What is it, your Highness?" The man sounds exhausted, worn down from balancing diplomacy and, of course, manic inventors. "Have you allied yourself with another homicidal lunatic? Financed some anarchists?"

On any other day, the words would sting. Today, he brushes them off. "No, actually. I'm renouncing my claim to the throne of Austria-Hungary. I threw that scroll into the ocean."

The man appears to have stopped breathing.

Nervously, Alek continues, "You see, it's ah, because of the, the..."

"The girl," Volger says flatly.

"She has a name. But yes, because of her."

He shakes his head, the breeze sending several clippings of newspapers fluttering to the ground. "Sins of the fathers, it seems. I'd thought you'd learned _something _from the last fifteen years."

"I did. Just perhaps not what you would have wished me to." Alek picks up an article and studies it. "Political unrest in Austria-Hungary. I may not have had a country to go back to, anyway."

"And that's the only reason I'm not finding one of those godless Darwinist rebreathers and making you go diving for it." Volger shakes his head. "My life's work, your father's... wasted."

"I wouldn't say that. I'm going to be a marvelous zookeeper."

Volger groans and rests his forehead on the desk as Alek makes his escape. All things considered, it went rather well, he thinks. He's probably lucky that the man didn't have his saber.


	45. Identities

**Post-Goliath**

A rather apprehensive Dylan Sharp walks into the tailor's shop.

An hour and a half later, an extremely annoyed Deryn Sharp walks out. She tugs and her mother's dress - let in a barking lot, but what can you do - and wonders for the millionth time if there's an easier way to deal with the whole two identity thing.

Of course, there isn't. The world wouldn't want her life to be bloody _easy_, would it?

It may not be worth it, really, even if the alternative is staying a boy all the time. She hates every inch of women's clothes. The corset squeezes her ribs until she feels like she's suffocating, and she swears the skirts are some kind of fabricated beastie trying to trip her up. The only think she likes is the parasol, which has a pointy bit on the end that's dead useful for poking people with while still looking proper.

"Well, what do you think?" she asks, reminding herself again that proper young ladies don't curse with every breath. On her last expedition as a girl, she'd scandalized an entire café full of ladies after she told the waiter what she thought of the food. Well-bred young women did not use the term 'sodding pile of clart' in public.

Alek frowns, looking her up and down, and she holds her breath. He can't like her more in lass's clothes, can he? She hopes not. This isn't who she is... just a costume, more than boy's clothes ever were. Deryn Sharp wasn't born to be dressed up like a child's toy. He must understand that. He barking well better.

"You look happier in uniform," he finally says, and she relaxes. She'd slump down in relief, but the dratted corset is holding her spine in an iron grip. The thing will probably accidentally fall out a window one of these days, if she can manage it when Bovril isn't watching. The creature would rat her out, ungrateful beastie.

"Aye - I mean yes - but it's not my happiness we're worried about, is it?"

"I suppose not."

She sighs, and takes his offered arm with resignation. The purpose of her not-quite-disguise is to complete a trip she should have gone on long ago, but hasn't yet had the courage for.

Her mother wants to see her.

"I'm not looking forward to this," she grumbles as they walk down the street, the familiar sights of Glasgow not doing anything to brighten her mood. "Ma's sure to start one of her lectures. 'Haven't you gotten tired of being a boy yet? Get back home and do your sewing like a proper girl.' She's bark- she's awful."

He shrugs - Alek has listened to plenty of her rants about her ma, but doesn't feel too sorry for her, as his ma's dead, after all - then looks over at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. It makes her breath catch, every time. Around Alek, she can't forget she's a girl, no matter what she's wearing.

Barking distracting, it is.

"Need a kiss for luck?" he asks, and she smiles.

"I can't say it'll help much, but go ahead." She's about to suggest they go hide, when she realizes with a jolt that there's no scandal in him kissing _Deryn_, is there? It's Alek kissing Dylan that's the problem.

Suddenly the streets feel a lot more like home.

He kisses her, right there in front of everyone, and she doesn't mind one bit. Maybe she's on a mission - something far trickier than whatever Dr. Barlow has planned, in her opinion - but she can still have fun.

"Ready?" he asks.

She smiles. "Ready."


	46. A Proposal

**Post-Goliath**

The whispers start as soon as they walk in.

Deryn folds her arms across her chest and glares. Ever since the world learned her secret - over a year ago, on her nineteenth birthday - Deryn Sharp has been a regular scandal. It's barking annoying.

"Just ignore them," Alek says under her breath.

"Easy for you to say." They're only here to meet Dr. Barlow, but the boffin hasn't bothered to show up yet. Bum-rag. Deryn glances around the room and meets only hostile looks in return. How is she supposed to stand an hour of this?

"You're welcome for saving all your bums during the Great War," she grumbles, but she doesn't dare say it out loud. Dr. Barlow's rules are fresh in her mind.

"Try not to make a spectacle of yourself, Miss Sharp, if that's at all possible. The Zoological Society thrives on secrecy."

Why they hired her will always be a mystery.

She doesn't realize she's walking until Alek tugs her through a door and into a thankfully abandoned hallway. Deryn sinks down on a bench, sighing. It's always like this - you'd think she'd be barking well used to it by now. Everyone talking behind their hands, calling her a freak, hardly a female at all, a loose woman - which might be less annoying if it was actually true, but princes tend to have strict rules about that kind of thing.

"I just want it to stop," she groans through her hands.

"Well," Alek suggests, sitting down next to her, "you could marry me."

She laughs, until she realizes he's not joking. A cold, heavy weight settles in her stomach. "Marry you?"

"Tu, felix Austria, nube," Bovril murmurs sleepily, stirring on her shoulder. Alek nods, face serious.

"Blisters," she mutters. As a child, she'd never wanted to be married. It was just another way to tie yourself down, keep you away from the sky. Even though she knows she loves Alek, and always will, marriage still seems like bondage to her. Once a lass was married, she was expected to settle down, have babies - several of her childhood friends had already done just that. But Deryn doesn't want to settle down. Not now, maybe not ever. There's a whole world out there to explore, and the sky is limitless.

"Is that a no?" he asks, and to her relief he sounds more amused than hurt.

"I'd take a lot of convincing," she answers, flicking Bovril's ear to make sure the beastie hears too.

He laughs, leans over, and kisses her.

She smiles against his lips. "I'll think about it."


	47. A Wee Bit Different

**A fun little AU genderbend. No, I'm not continuing it. I just saw some Alek-as-female fanarts and wondered why he'd be hiding.**

"They're looking for a runaway princess," Volger said. "We have to make you look as little like that as possible." The wildcount's tone was almost apologetic.

Aleksa didn't nod, afraid to bump Volger's hand. The knife tugged at her hair, and dark strands fell to the ground, curling up like question marks.

"It's only for a little while," her fencing instructor said, releasing her.

Aleksa - Alek now, at least in theory - checked her reflection in the cloudy metal of the stormwalker. She still saw herself as a girl - wearing boy's clothing, with her hair hacked off - but maybe others would see her differently.

Still, how on earth was she supposed to live long as a _boy_?


	48. Unbound

**I'm a girl who constantly wears baggy shirts for comfort's sake. Then one day I was forced to don a low cut dress. The only redeeming part of the evening was watching all the double takes. Guys freak when you spontaneously grow a chest. Not sure why.**

I.

Deryn tugs at her shirt and sighs. She feels exposed, going around unbound, broadcasting her gender for everyone to see.

"Well, I'm ready to go," she announces, stepping out into the hallway.

Alek nods, eyes wide. Deryn follows his line of vision.

Ah.

She crosses her arms and scowls. "Aye. I have diddies. Get over it."

II.

"Newkirk! I haven't seen you in years."

Her former fellow midshipman looks up and his jaw drops. "Dylan. I mean Deryn. So the rumors _were_ true."

"Aye. I'm a genuine lass. Pity, but there you go." She waits a moment, and then waves. "Newkirk? I'm up here."

"Oh." He blushes. "Right."

Deryn sighs and wonders how many times she'll have to go through this.


	49. Emergency Exit

**Post-Goliath. I know Deryn and Alek have the same job and it's cute and all, but... am I the only one that thinks Alek is going to epic fail at the zookeeper/spy thing? Yeah...**

Alek shakes water out of his hair and does his best to stay afloat in sopping wet clothes. A few feet away, Deryn surfaces, spitting out filthy water and grinning like she's absolutely mad. It's an option he's beginning to seriously consider.

"I've never left a hydrogen breather _that_ way before!" she announces.

He stares at Deryn, but she's not precisely _Deryn _anymore. She's Dylan, and though she might argue that they're one and the same, he can tell that's not quite true. Strange as it may seem, she's more comfortable in her boy disguise.

"Can we try my way next time?" he asks, brushing something slimy off his shoulder.

"Don't be a bumrag about it. It was only through the ballast tanks."

"Which you commonly refer to as the clart channels."

"I don't smell anything. Of course, I think my attic's a wee bit rattled at the moment." She floats silently for a moment, cross-eyed, and then adds, "At least we landed in the river."

"Which can be hard as stone if you're high enough." Alek doesn't point out that the Thames is hardly sanitary. Compared to where they've been, it's positively pristine.

"But we _weren't," _Deryn says patiently. "We have the barking egg, don't we?"

"Yes. We don't know what it is, or why Dr. Barlow wants it, or why it was so heavily guarded, but we have it."

"That's the spirit. I'll buy you a new jacket when we get back." She claps a hand on his shoulder as they scramble up onto the bank, soaked and filthy. "We'll make a zoologist of you yet."

Alek nods and plods along, his feet squishing in his shoes with every step. That's what he's afraid of.


	50. Keeping Secrets

**During Goliath. After Deryn hurts her knee, I think there're four days when they just stay in her cabin. What went on then? We barely see any of it, and all in her perspective... **

Deryn is sleeping.

This is a rare enough occasion that Alek remains in his chair for what feels like half an hour, afraid to move and wake her. Between the pain, the worry, and the buzzing abomination on her knee, she's awake almost all the time. She needs the rest.

He may need it too, but Deryn comes first.

Asleep, she looks vulnerable, closer to the girl she could have been. Still, he can see traces of Dylan in her face and even the way she lies, as if some disguises, once put on, can never completely be removed.

He's been taking care of her for the last two days: bringing her food, helping her move... anything that needs to be done. It hurts her pride, he can tell, but she knows she needs the help. Alek doesn't complain either, because that's what best friends do.

And that's all Deryn is - his best friend. At least, that's what he tells himself to deny the feelings that creep into his heart when he sees her. Feelings that are wrong, and just plain dangerous.

He thinks of his country, his parents, Volger's expectations, his entire life - and sets it against the girl sleeping restlessly across the room, a small frown creasing her forehead. It's absurd that he even has to consider this.

"I can't love you," he whispers, soft enough that she won't wake. "You know that, right?"

She doesn't answer - how could she? - but the hint of sadness that never leaves her face convinces him that she knows. They both know. Alek has always seen Providence as a force for good - guiding him along his intended destiny to save the world - but only now does he understand how cruel fate can be.

_No secrets. _That had been their promise, and Alek thinks for a long while before he breaks it. But telling Deryn that he might - just might - be able to love her back, if he could, would do nothing but hurt them both.

In the end, he'll always be a prince, and she'll always be a commoner. There are some things that never change, and some secrets that should never be spoken.


End file.
